Falling From Grace
by stylishkiller
Summary: Draco is given 12 months of freedom in his final year before he must become the poster boy for evil. This is that year and what follows. But what if Harry is the one who had who is lost himself in the war?


**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything to do with Harry Potter. If I did I wouldn't angst how expensive my reading addiction and Robert Robert shoe obsession are. And I'd have a gorgeous British accent. But I like to borrow Draco to play with sometimes. Doesn't everyone? Thus, don't sue!

**Title:**_ 'Falling from Grace'_ (I HATE coming up with titles. If you can suggest a better one, feel free to)  
  
**Author:** Stylishkiller.  
  
**Warning:** If you aren't comfy with the idea of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together, as in - in a relationship - do us all a favor and don't read this. If you feel like flaming for any other reason, please do.  
  
**Archived:** ff.net. If you'd like to see it elsewhere please ask.  
  
**Summary:** Draco is given 12 months of freedom in his final year to do as he wishes before he is initiated into the inner circle. This is that year, and what follows. Can he bring Harry back from the brink? (It starts off a bit confusingly, but I promise that in the following chapters everything will become clear.) Oh, and did I mention that Draco can only see color in Harry's presence?  
  
**Notes:** My first try at the HP fandom. So be nice. Flames and 'constructive criticism', as well as general death threats are more than welcome. This has not been beta-proof read. I'm in between betas at the moment.

**Prelude:**_Autumn 2005_He met Death on the boulevard, as he was strolling towards home, one wretched, disgustingly sunny autumn day. Death walked on silent feet, His passage marked only by the flash of a blinding island of color that surrounded him in a world of a million grays, as He headed towards Draco. Autumn leaves, seemingly dull and monotone to Draco's sight one moment, became intricate lattice combinations of all imaginable shades of yellow, red and the unforgettable orange, far outnumbering green, whose presence seemed an oversight. As they swirled around His feet, in an absurd dance that made the blond smile, even as he stood momentarily frozen in place. But Death never reached him, merely paused to look upon the former Death Eater, as if admiring the last of the House of Malfoy.  
  
As he regained his composure, Draco lifted his gaze from Death's feet, to His face, gasping as the unflinching, familiar emerald green eyes stared back, devoid of any emotion. Being confronted by that cold glassy stare and the enigmatically empty smile that graced the dark-haired fiend's lips, made looking at the close-cropped hair easier, and it was the loss of that, which upset Draco more than anything. He had anticipated, though not completely believed, in the complete change in personality of the man before him, as that had been revealed in Hermione's short, infrequent letters, but a change to that which had been as constant as the passage of time, came as a true shock.  
  
A rogue gust of wind blew Draco's long hair into his face, momentarily obscuring his vision. Unconsciously brushing it back, Draco took in the disappearance of the figure at the other end of the alley without surprise. Yet the encounter had left him shaken, as unfamiliar emotions warred within him.  
  
He stumbled into his faceless, rented apartment on the outskirts of London, his rubbery legs barely keeping him upright, completely unaware of his surroundings or how he had happened to get there. Leaning on the wall he bonelessly flopped onto the floor losing a battle with gravity and assuming a fetal position, forgetting or maybe unable to even close the door. Draco's disoriented senses mourned renewed the loss of color, making the drab world appear much harsher, without its beautiful trappings, just as Draco mourned the loss of the only being he had ever one lose to trusting and depending on.  
  
"You look like shit Malfoy."  
  
Strong supple hands pulled Draco into an upright position. The red haired man steered the sobbing mess into the cozy little kitchen and unceremoniously dumped him onto a three legged stool that had seen better days. Not looking at his roommate Ron began to bustle around the kitchen counters with various jars, mismatched cups and saucers and an antique looking kettle.  
  
"My thanks for kicking a man when he is down. But the truly sad thing is, that I still manage to look better than you ever will, Weasley."  
  
Ron let out a sigh of relief, for after all, thankful that Malfoy still retained his sense of humor, such as it was.  
  
A silence settled over them. Nothing needed to be said. They had been discovered. Running was futile. Ron didn't need Draco to explain anything of what had happened: Harry had reached London at last.  
  
The stillness was interrupted by the shriek of the boiling kettle. A moment later a delicate fine bone china cup (that Draco had been informed was pink), and its steaming contents, that were intruded upon by a single slice of lemon, appeared in front of the blond.  
  
Ron was already sipping the chai from a tall painted glass, as Draco slowly blew into the cup in a half hearted attempt to cool the tea, knowing that while the effect his efforts were having were non existent, he took comfort from the ordinary ritual.  
  
"You really believe that tea is the solution to all problems, don't you Ron?" he mused slowly stirring the tea in a clockwise direction.  
  
"Yes. It solves everything. Even arthmancy problems."**To be continued...  
**

Erk... I hope someone out there likes it. And no, Draco and Ron are not in a relationship. They are friends which I believe is the less likelier thing that could happen.


End file.
